From Start to Finish
by dimestoredramatic
Summary: Derek is invisible, or so it seems.


Disclaimer: No, surprising though it may be to hear, I do not own Life With Derek.

AN: Derek is really quite out of character, just as a warning, you know. But if he were in character, this story wouldn't work, because, well. You know what, I'll just let you read it, because everyone knows no one really reads ANs anyway.

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You come back to school on a Thursday, after having stayed home, sick, for six school days. When your teacher asks for a note from a parent, your best friend turns to you in surprise. "You were away?" he asks. You clench your fists and force a smile. "Yes," you say. Later, you ask your dad why he didn't call the school to tell them you were sick. For a moment, he looks bewildered and you can sense him scanning his memories. "I'm sorry," he says, "I must've forgotten." That night, you stare at yourself in a mirror, trying to convince yourself that you aren't invisible; you try not to cry when your step sister calls you vain.

You go to hockey practice the next day to find that, while you were sick, you were replaced as captain by your best friend. Your best friend that didn't realize he hadn't seen you in over a week.

One day, when you come home, your family is sitting at the table, eating dinner without you. "Derek!" your stepmother says, sounding as though you'd caught her off guard. "We didn't mean to start without you. I called you down, but when you didn't come, I assumed you weren't hungry. I wasn't aware you were out…" She sounds genuinely apologetic, so you shrug and say, "Well, I'm actually late because I went out to eat; I was kind of hoping you'd start without me, as a matter of fact." They start eating again before you even finish talking. You're half disappointed that they didn't call you out on your lie, but half grateful too. It occurs to you for the first time that maybe there are benefits to never being noticed.

You watch as your family coos over your step sister's report card. All "A"s except her one "B" in P.E. Isn't she brilliant. You look down at your own report card; for the first time in your life, you've managed straight "A"s, because being ignored has given you ample time to study. You toss your report card in the fire and watch as the corners curl inwards; your family never asks to see it.

For the first time in months, your best friend is walking home with you. "So , man," he says, clapping a hand round your shoulders, "Come with me for some pizza?" You shake your head and mumble that you're not hungry. Looking skeptical, he frowns and says, "No wonder you're so scrawny, man. You never eat. You trying to lose weight or something?" For some reason, you only hear your friend's last sentence. You take it as an implication that he thinks you ought to lose weight. You focus on this idea until you see your reflection in a puddle you come across; you get an odd sense of satisfaction when your friend's foot destroys it.

You haven't eaten much in months and it's starting to show, but you can't eat, because the gnawing, empty feeling in your stomach is addictive. It hurts, but for you, it's the best hurt imaginable. People are noticing you again, demanding to know what's wrong with you; wondering why you don't talk, why you don't eat. You find it ironic: initially, they were the ones making you invisible, but now that you're doing it to yourself, they suddenly care. How the tables have turned, indeed.

In the end, it's your step sister that convinces your dad he needs to take you to the doctor. The step sister that hates you, the step sister that wants you dead, the step sister that would rather pull off all her toenails than help you. For some reason, she's trying to save you but you don't tell her that it's too late. The doctor's diagnosis is depression and he says that depression is likely the cause of your eating disorder. He uses various medical terms that you don't understand, and all the while you're thinking that it isn't true, it can't be true, you're happy, you really are. No one believes you and it's out of your hands. When you go home, loaded with a pill bottle of little capsules, anti-depressants, everyone is all over you, apologizing and wondering why you became depressed. You think that maybe the fact that they don't know why you're depressed proves the point.

Your parents never watch you take the pills. You think they're trying as much as possible to deny anything is wrong with you, so they just give you one pill, once a day, and then leave the room as fast as possible. They don't know that you never take them; they don't know that you save them, in a little plastic baggie, and that when you have enough, you'll take them all, all at once.

You sit in your room, staring at two months worth of pills. They look disgusting and unnatural, one half of the capsule pastel green, the other half snow white. It's the powder inside that's meant to cure you, but instead, you'll use it to kill yourself. As you prepare to swallow them, you think about how your parents never noticed you while you were alive. You wonder how long it will take for them to notice that you're dead.


End file.
